The Summer Garden. Paullina Simons

paid. Eleven.”

      “I didn’t realize it’s been that long. Why are we still here?” Tatiana muttered, and quickly changed the subject to Thelma, the nice woman she met in the store a few mornings ago. Thelma’s husband had recently come back from Japan. Thelma was looking for something to entertain him with as he seemed a bit down in the dumps. Tatiana had suggested a boat ride, and Thelma had sprung at the idea.

      Thelma apparently didn’t make it to the boat that afternoon, nor the next, though all afternoons were equally blue-skied and acceptable. When Tatiana ran into her at the store a few days later, Thelma muttered an excuse but said she and her husband were hoping to get to the boat this afternoon for sure. She asked Tatiana if she came on the boat. Tatiana said no, explaining about her son’s nap and her husband’s dinner and other home things. Thelma nodded in sisterly understanding, doing the home things herself that morning. She was making a hot apple cobbler. Apparently men returning home from the war liked that.

      Alexander had been bringing home astonishing amounts of money. One dollar, two dollars, five dollars, twenty dollars.

      “Even my math is failing me,” Tatiana said, sitting at the kitchen table with a stash of singles and fives in front of her. “I can’t count this high. Did you make a—hundred dollars today?”

      “Hmm.”

      “Alexander, I want to know what you’re doing to these women for a hundred dollars a day.”

      When he smoked and grinned and didn’t reply, she said, “That was not a rhetorical question. Your wife would like an answer.”

      He laughed, and she laughed, ha ha, but the next day when she went to pick up Anthony from the boat, who should she see but Thelma, nattily dressed standing at a distance Tatiana deemed to be too close to her barely salvaged husband. She wasn’t even sure it was Thelma, for in the grocery store Thelma was sans makeup and wore grocery store clothes. Here, her wavy dark hair was curled and teased, she had makeup on … she ….Tatiana wasn’t even sure what it was that was provocative— perhaps the tightness of the skirt around the hips, the bareness of leg underneath, perhaps the wine trollop lips in the middle of a torrid noon, perhaps even the smiling tilt of the coquettish, slatternly head.

      “Thelma?” Tatiana said, coming up the plank. “Is that you?”

      Thelma snapped around as if she’d heard a voice from the grave. “Oh! Hi.”

      “Oh, hi,” said Tatiana, stepping between her and Alexander. She turned to face the woman. “I see you’ve met my husband. Where’s your husband?”

      High-heeling away, Thelma waved her off. “He couldn’t make it today.”

      Tatiana said nothing—then. But she asked Anthony the next morning, in full hearing of a certain husband having breakfast, about the nice woman on the boat, and Anthony told her that she’d been coming every morning for some time.

      “Is that so?”

      “No, that is not so,” intervened a certain husband.

      “And, Anthony, does the nice woman’s husband come with her?”

      “Oh no. She doesn’t have a husband. She told Daddy her husband ran away. She said he didn’t want to be married after the war.”

      “Oh, really?”

      “Yes, and, Mommy,” said Anthony, licking his lips, “she brought us an apple cobbler to eat. It was so yummy!”

      Tatiana said nothing else. She didn’t even look up. Alexander tilted his head across the table to get her attention, saying nothing himself. When he went to kiss her, he cupped her face and made her look up at him. His eyes were twinkling. He kissed her nice and open, making the lava pit in her stomach nice and open, too, and left for work.

      When Tatiana went to pick up Anthony at noon, Thelma wasn’t there.

      “Mommy,” Anthony whispered. “I don’t know what Daddy said to her this morning, but she ran from the boat in tears!”

      Thelma was never seen again, not even in the grocery store.

      At home Alexander said, “You want to come with me tomorrow for the morning ride, for the afternoon ride? You know you can come on the boat with me any time you want.”

      “Can I now?”

      “Of course. Any time. You haven’t expressed any interest.” He paused. “Until now.”

      There was something slightly … Tatiana didn’t know … pointed in his remark. Something accusing. But accusing her of what? Of cooking and cleaning and washing for him? Of braiding her hair and shaving and scrubbing herself pink, and putting on gauzy dresses and sheer panties and musk oil to come to meet him in the evenings? Of letting him have an hour or two with his boy in the mornings?

      She contemplated making an issue of it. But an issue of what? She studied him, but he was already past it, as he was past most things, reading the paper, drinking, smoking, talking to Anthony.

      Tatiana did come on the boat ride the next morning.

      “Your hair is in a crew cut,” a girl murmured to him after she sauntered to stand by his side while Tatiana sat quietly nearby, Anthony on her lap. “Almost like you’re in the army,” the girl persisted when Alexander didn’t reply.

      “I was in the army.”

      “Oh that’s great! Where did you serve?”

      “On the Eastern Front.”

      “Oh, wow. I want to know everything! Where is this Eastern Front, anyway? I’ve never heard of it. My father was in Japan. He’s still there.” The girl, who looked to be in her late teens, continued nonstop. “Captain, you’re driving the boat so fast, and it’s getting so windy, and I’m wearing this flouncy skirt. You don’t think it’ll be a problem, do you? The wind isn’t going to kick the skirt up, in an immodest sort of way?” She giggled.

      “I don’t think so. Ant, do you want to come, help me steer?”

      Anthony ran to his father. The girl turned around to glance at Anthony and at Tatiana, who smiled, giving her a little wave.

      “Is this your son?”

      “Yes.”

      “Is that, um … ?”

      “My wife, yes.”

      “Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t know you were married.”

      “I am, though, nonetheless. Tania, come here. Meet … sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

      As Tatiana walked past the girl to get to Alexander, she said, “Excuse me,” and added evenly, “I think the wind might indeed kick up that immodesty you were talking about. Better grab on to the skirt.”

      Alexander bit his lip. Tatiana stood calmly next to him, her hand on the wheel.

      That evening walking home, he said, “I either continue to invite questions or I can grow out my hair.” When she didn’t say anything—because she didn’t think her husband with a head full of shiny black hair would be repellent enough—he prodded her to tell him what she was thinking.

      She chewed her lip. “The constant female attention … um … wanted or unwanted?”

      “I’m indifferent, babe,” he said, his arm around her. “Though amused by you.”

      Tatiana was quiet when Alexander came home the following evening.

      “What’s the matter? You’re more glum than usual,” he asked after he came out from the bath.

      She protested. “I’m not usually glum.” Then she sighed. “I took a test today.”

      “What test?” Alexander sat down at her table.